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July 2015

Crossing The Line

By | discussion, Realizations | No Comments

When creating a story of any kind on any platform, there is ALWAYS an invisible line drawn in the sands of story time. This line is symbolic of what the general populace can take in regarding emotional damage and “I can’t even” standards. This line exists to control us creators from causing mass societal destruction upon the spread of earth. So now that “The Line” has been defined, let’s get to the whole point of this discussion.
Recently I have found myself writing a “fucked up” series, and by “fucked up”, I mean “fucked up”. I’m writing this series with a fellow human being and as we discuss the possibilities and potential plot twists and story outlines, I’ve noticed that she keeps me in check with “the line” more than I do with myself. Well it made me think/wonder/ponder/realize… The line is COMPLETELY and totally subjective (much lie 95% of everything is). I find that rape is less line crossing than a person enjoying their parents watching sex. Of course this is all in the context of stories for film or tv or novel (meaning, I don’t think rape is less line crossing in real life, just in the fictional world). Now other people might find other things more “line crossing” than what I find to be “ling crossing”. Just like my partner for this series has her own standards for what “crossing the line” generally is.
This leads me to second revelation… This line… it’s a barrier, it’s a rule, it’s a governing force in which writers box themselves in. And aren’t the most amazing artist’s and visionaries the one who break the rules? The one who break out of boxes, the ones who cross the line? ┬áSo if we look at the “line” in the sense of a rule in order to be broken… then isn’t the line made to be crossed? Therefore negating all of how society feels? Now if that’s true then why don’t all of us writers and creators just create a world of serial killers and rapists and call it a day… Because the more we create about a certain line the farther back it gets pushed. Sex on the screen was a line, it was crossed and now things like 50 shades of gray and HBO exist.
Third moment… If we didn’t cross lines then we wouldn’t know what we are okay with and what the boundaries are. We wouldn’t be able to clearly define our comfort levels and zones without having to experience where the line is personally. Movies help us figure that out safely. With that being said, crossing the line helps society in understanding the norms of what is generally accepted and what is not.
NOW WITH THOSE 3 POINTS IN MIND… Do you think it’s good for writers to cross the line of crossing the line? Cross the line that you end up so far away from it that it’s almost like there was never a line to begin with? Act as if all things are okay and there’s no such thing as a line to be crossed? Also how do you feel about line crossing in general. What is crossing the line for you (in film/tv/literature)?

A death in the royal family.

By | Dreams | No Comments

Although I can’t remember much of this dream I did write down the key events. I was in a car, in the passenger seat, while my “aunt” (a made up aunt) was driving. It was a beautiful day snd we were driving through some of the most vivid greenery I’ve ever seen. And even though this aunt was made up and doesn’t actually exist, I FELT the connection of family to her. She had a sorrowful smile upon her face and somehow I knew why without actually knowing what it was.
We kept driving until we pulled up to a community of houses on the outskirts of a city. My aunt started to talk then “here it is, this is where he grew up, that’s the house over there and here’s the tree” she pointed out each of these things as she said them. We got off the car, looked at the house briefly and went to what we had come here for… the tree.
There we stood looking at this beyond larger than life tree. The roots were almost the size of the house, which was a 2 – story one I might add. And as we looked at the tree I started to cry and pictures of a made up cousin flooded my mind. All these images made my sadness grow larger and I cried harder. My aunt cried with me too. She started pointing to parts of the tree and talking about what her son, my cousin, used to do and how even though his autism inhibited him in society, in nature he was a king. And then all the memories of the struggle he had in life came flying in, and my memories of taking him on picnics and how much he enjoyed the outdoors.
I eventually stopped crying and looked at the tree, there was was a specific branch hanging low. My aunt said that was “his branch”, he would say that the tree only let him hang off of one branch and it was this one. I could see his spirit swinging off the branch having fun like he did. I kept looking at the branch and the roots and I said to my aunt “doesn’t the tree look like a dragon?” My aunt turns her head and agrees. I then walk up to the tree and touch the roots and they move. The roots coke out if the ground and the tree starts lifting up high, it was a dragon. And then I woke up.